Sleep
by Libbytheblackcat
Summary: Working title says it all: The one in which everyone finds out that Natasha is sleeping with Steve... Including Steve... [Pepperony is a thing, as it should be, but it's rather background]
1. Chapter 1

**Hi all, just a quick note on this: commenced in 2014 while I was rebelling against thesis writing. Sort of runs after T _he Avengers_ and in later chapters post _Captain America - The Winter Soldier_ but was complete pre- _Age of Ultron._ Yes, that's right I have completed this story! That's honestly a record for me. Still cleaning later chapters but waits shouldn't be too long now. As always, characters and settings are mostly not mine. I'm just borrowing. **

Sleep

 _(...or the one in which everyone finds out Natasha is sleeping with Steve...including Steve)_

Steve Rogers (Captain America):

He is often woken in the middle of the night, the slightest of sounds enough to bring him back to consciousness. A side-effect of the action he saw during the war and after it, he thinks. As it is, he is not surprised to be jolted into wakefulness, a little after 2am, one extremely ordinary Wednesday morning.

The cause, however, is not the usual street sounds or other residents through the walls. It is much closer than that. He is a split second from springing for his shield when his brain registers the familiar form and red hair of the Russian spy. It takes him a second longer to process the fact that she is lifting his covers and sliding into bed beside him, not wearing much more than a tank top and a pair of shorts so tiny he's not 100% sure they even count as 'not underwear'.

"Natasha!" He exclaims. "What are you doing?"

As he finally finds his voice, he is a little disappointed in how very scandalised he sounds. Although, it does seem vaguely appropriate for the situation. It's not everyday a woman you consider a friend and comrade-in-arms mysteriously appears after a nearly 2 month long absence and climbs into bed with you in the middle of the night.

She clearly doesn't seem to find a problem with it as she proceeds to ignore his discomfort-well at least that's not anything new-and snuggle-yes, snuggle-down into his spare pillow. He tries again.

"Natasha..." This time it is less in surprise and more of a last ditch attempt to solicit some kind of explanation before she actually falls asleep here with him. However, this time, he does punctuate his displeasure with a few soft pokes to her shoulder.

This she finally deigns to respond to. Raising a hand, she tiredly swats at him, turning her head to face him considerably reluctantly. "Rogers, it's the middle of the night. I'm sleeping. What?" She snarks.

He smiles. Success.

"I can see that, Nat. What I'd like to know is why you're doing it here?"

She huffs and rolls back away from him, muttering something into the pillow. He's not entirely sure it wasn't in Russian.

"Want to try that one more time? Coherently?"

"Mission. Tired. Convenient. Happy?"

Clearly, that was all he was going to get. Not that he'd expected much more really. What it does tell him though, is that she came here because it was somewhere she felt safe. That is enough for now.

She sighs heavily, throwing an arm over her face. "Can I sleep now, chatty?"

She's asked in good humour, despite the glare she levels him. For a moment he can only smile in response. The whole situation has taken on an edge of the surreal. He is not entirely sure that he won't wake up in the morning and find the whole thing has been a very bizarre but entertaining dream.

She seems to take his silence for an answer as her breathing starts to even out in sleep.

"Goodnight Natasha," he whispers into the darkness, giving in to the temptation to tuck the loose veil of hair behind her ear as he does so. Thinking her asleep he is completely unprepared for her response.

"G'night Steve."

It is only as he too drifts off that it occurs to him that she had been almost on top of him when he woke. Had she been trying to kill him, she most likely would have succeeded.

* * *

When he wakes for the second time that morning, some 4 hours later, he is mildly surprised to find her still there, curled up next to him. Not a dream then, he thinks with no little trace of amusement. She watches with heavy eyes as he starts his morning routine but is asleep again by the time he's done. He figures that if she let herself in, she can let herself out. She is big enough to look after herself should she wake before he returns from his morning run. He does however, make doubly sure to lock his apartment securely as he leaves.

She is, as he expected, gone by the time he gets in, the only signs of her presence are a plate of sweet buns from a local bakery on the counter-she would have had to have gone out and come back for those-and a deceptively cursive note on his bedside table. It says only:

"Thank you"

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 **And that was that. If you liked it, if you hated it, if you were somewhat indifferent, I'd love to hear about it.**

 **Reviews = Love.**

 **xo Libby...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey kids, so I guess I owe you all a bit of an apology... Life, as usual got in the way a bit and I didn't post as soon as expected. In fact, I feel so bad about it I'm currently braving a tropical storm to post this... May or may not be a little bit childishly concerned that using power or the internet is gonna attract the lightning to me but so far so good hey? As always, characters and whatnot are not mine, just borrowing. And finally, some more apologies: no matter what I do this one just feels a bit clunky. This is me giving up and posting it anyway. Please enjoy :)**

 **.**

Clint Barton (Hawkeye):

It's been a long time since the Avengers formed to save New York. Now, it's not uncommon for them to 'assemble' for a night spent in camaraderie after a long day spent fighting the megalomaniacs of the world. Tonight, they converge on Steve's apartment with the promise of ordered in pizza, televised sport and male bonding, making the most of their one female compatriot's most recent individual mission out of town.

They stumble through his front door, a seething mass of superheroes, arguing about the day, the pizza, the game, anything really and vying for the best position on Steve's couch. They are loud and rambunctious and Steve takes a moment as he closes the door to appreciate his new found family.

He misses for a moment the understated presence of his one missing teammate, spares a thought for her continued safety and follows the noise deeper into his home. It's nice to have the space so full, he thinks, as he takes a detour to his bedroom to put away his kit. What he finds there almost makes him forget about the kit.

In the absolute middle of his bed, there's the distinctive lump of a small body, curled in on itself and mostly buried in blankets. It is identifiable simply by the mess of blood red hair strewn across Steve's pillows. He sighs. His house really is full tonight.

Mindful of the noise that everyone else is making in the living room Steve creeps forward, mostly to check her breathing. That Natasha, super spy extraordinaire, appears to be still sleeping despite the inhuman (literally in some cases) racket that is the rest of the team, is definitely cause for alarm in his book.

But no, she is still breathing, the familiar heavy breaths of her sleep. This is not the first time she's slept in his bed over the last few months and he has at least become accustomed to her presence and her habits. He knows she was away on business, although not where or what that business entailed exactly, so he figures this must be her post mission crash. She definitely looks a little the worse for wear.

A rise in the volume from the living room reminds him of his original purpose and provides him with a new one at the same time. He places his kit down as quietly as possible, although if they haven't roused her, it's hardly likely he will, and returns to the living room.

Tony is in the middle of threatening to make Bruce Hulk-out if Clint doesn't give up his position on the couch because that is apparently his 'spot' and he has permanent dibs.

Clint tells Tony that there is no such thing as permanent dibs and if he wanted the spot he should have gotten there earlier.

Bruce is having nothing to do with the pair of them and is busily explaining to Thor for the hundredth time that baseball is fine the way it is and we really don't need Asgardian 'improvements'.

It seems like the perfect time for Steve to interrupt, preferably before something, probably his television or coffee table, gets broken…again.

"So, I was just putting my..." He starts. It was optimistic at best using his normal conversational tone. He should have known better. A fly waving a surrender flag a hundred miles away would have had more of an impact. He tries again, more appropriately this time.

"I don't feel like pizza anymore!" He nearly shouts.

The team pause, almost comically.

"You wanna run that by me again Capsicle?" Tony looks confused and almost hurt at the suggestion that someone could not feel like pizza.

Steve shrugs somewhat apologetically, "I thought about birds, then wings, then chicken wings..."

"And now you can't get the idea of wings out of your stomach?" Bruce supplies helpfully.

Tony still looks hurt. Steve is concerned that he will cling to the idea of pizza like he is apparently attached to his 'spot'. Really, this was the best plan he could come up with to move the guys from his apartment so that Natasha could sleep without letting them know that that was the reason they were moving in the first place. He's actually a little disappointed in himself that this is his best plan for the situation. It's not a very good one.

"Uh... Yeah. That's it exactly."

Clint gives him an odd look but Steve's too busy worrying about Tony to see it and Thor has been unusually quiet which in itself is worrisome.

"There's that sports bar around the corner. They do amazing wings. And I could really go for one of their burgers now that you mention it..." Clint offers more helpfully than Bruce. If it wouldn't raise more questions than it was worth Steve could have kissed him. Clint has saved the plan.

"…and I wouldn't have to put up with the tin-man over here moping because he was too slow and missed out on his supposed 'spot'".

Tony lets out a very undignified squawk at being called the tin-man and opens his mouth to either defend his honour or retaliate. No one is sure which because before he can start Thor cuts him off. The demigod had obviously been quietly considering the proposed change of plan with a good deal of seriousness and come to a conclusion.

"Ay, the Captain is right. Tonight the wings of chicken hold greater appeal for me than the pizza. I cast my vote. Let us go to the Sports Bar!"

Bruce seems to agree as well as he rises and puts on his jacket. Tony, if he had an opinion, didn't get to voice it because Thor and Bruce head towards the door, already decided and resuming their previous baseball oriented discussion.

Clint, sensing a classic Tony Stark 'I am not the centre of attention' tantrum, decides to do them all a favour and distract him. "May I suggest Stark, if you have a spot in this bar or would like the luxury of choosing one, you move now. I'll even give you a 30 second head-start... One. Two."

By three Tony is on his feet and barrelling past Bruce and Thor towards the door. Clint, getting to his feet, laughs and mumbles something that definitely resembles "Genius my ass" to Steve's ears. They follow the rest of the team down the hall.

Steve allows himself a quick glance into his bedroom to make sure she is still sleeping, hoping Clint will assume it is just him checking if he's left something behind. She hasn't even moved since he was in before. The plan was worth it.

Clint is waiting for him in the hall while the others have gone on ahead. Something about the look on his face tells Steve that he's probably been busted and Natasha will have his head for this.

"She's here isn't she?"

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about..." He starts.

"That's bullshit Cap, you and I both know it. She was due back today. It makes sense."

"You didn't know she was home?" He's surprised. He was sure she would have checked-in with her partner at least as soon as she got back. Instead he finds her here...

"And there you just blew your cover. If I didn't already know she was here, I do now."

"Did you know she was here?" He counters, the game was up before it even started anyway.

"It was a pretty safe bet once you came out of your room and suddenly revoked your hospitality."

"Was I that obvious?"

"No. But I knew she was due back and I know she's been sleeping here a lot."

It all begins to fall into place for Steve. "That's why you helped so quickly."

Clint nods.

"Thanks."

"It's good to have someone else who risks their life to take care of her."

At Steve's confused look he explains. "You know Natasha would skin you alive with a letter opener if she found out you did something like this to look out for her."

"It had occurred to me. Although not a letter opener..." Steve looks pensive, as if he really is contemplating what it would be like to be skinned alive by a letter opener wielding Natasha.

Clint is amused. "I thought the imagery would be a nice touch."

"It was. I appreciate the heads up. I'll be sure to remove any letter openers I own from her access."

"Oh Cap, when are you gonna learn? Natasha has access to anywhere and anything she likes..."

"...and could kill me with her little finger anyway right."

"Right."

They both laugh a little at that. It was definitely hard to take care of a woman who was so competent and intensely determined to do it all herself.

"Just so we're clear, I'm glad to know you'll help her when I can't but if you ever hurt her Rogers, she'll probably kill you but in case she doesn't, I'll be there to pick up the slack. Then you might just wish she had."

Clint finishes this little speech with a bright smile that reminds Steve of the way an alligator might smile before it swallows its prey. He's not really comforted. He's also not sure that comfort was the intended purpose of the smile.

"Uh, thanks. I'll keep that in mind. You know we're not..."

"Good."

He is interrupted by Clint and left feeling not 100% sure that they're on the same page about his relationship-or lack thereof-with Natasha.

"Oh and you're paying for these burgers! I was really feeling the pizza tonight..."

Steve just shakes his head in good humour and holds the door open for his archer friend.

* * *

Natasha unlocks the door to the apartment she shares with Clint some 16 hours later. She drops most of her things in the hall and makes a beeline for the fridge. Steve had not been shopping for a while and her list of options in his kitchen had almost been enough to make her regret staying there instead of returning here.

She has almost half her upper-body inside the door when she hears her partner appear beside her. "Steve says you know I've been sleeping there. Wanna tell me why you're being a snoop?" She asks by way of greeting.

He shrugs. Of course goody-two-shoes Cap would snitch to Natasha. "You're just concerned I managed to follow you and you didn't notice."

She raises one perfectly manicured eyebrow and scoffs, "Like you could." It was a close as she got to saying yes.

"Relax Tasha, I just noticed you weren't here as much and wondered what you were up to. You'll be pleased to know it took me nearly a month after that to work out you were with Cap."

"You're slipping Clint." She replies good-naturedly. Her way of asking how he'd figured it out.

He shrugs. "You smelled different sometimes. It took me the rest of the month to realise you smelled like him."

She slams the fridge and actually laughs in his face. If he didn't know her so well he'd probably have been a little offended.

"God Clint, you have a nose like a bloodhound!"

The look on his face is priceless.

She's still laughing when she sits down on the couch with her food minutes later.

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 **And that was that. If you liked it, if you hated it, if you were somewhat indifferent, I'd love to hear about it.**

 **Reviews = Love.**

 **xo Libby..**


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, I am a terrible person. I know, I know... Please accept the longest update yet as an apology for how long it took me to get it to you. Truth is I may have forgotten I was posting this... Sorry! Also, thank you to everyone who has favourited, followed or reviewed. It truly makes me so happy :) Sorry I can't reply to you each in person but please know you are loved! Especially a shout out to Ashburk712, whose review reminded me to post this. And Clint and Nat are just so cute aren't they?! Apparently, Clint is my spirit avenger... Right, yes, rambling again. In my defense, I am on night shift right now! But, onwards! As always, not mine. Please Enjoy :)**

Sam Wilson (Falcon):

When Sam Wilson started banging on his friend's door at 6.30am one Sunday morning, he thought it was going to be just another normal Sunday. Well, as normal as you can expect when your friend is Captain America anyway.

About 15 seconds after he started knocking, however, he was getting the feeling that he was going to have to revise that assumption. On a normal day, Steve would have opened the door by now. Sam paused in his knocking to allow himself a small sigh. He wondered, at this point, what completely 'un-normal' risk to his life he was about to encounter.

Although, he reasoned, since becoming friends with Captain America life-threatening events were fast becoming an almost regular occurrence. Perhaps it was time to redefine his ideas about normality. That done, he checked his phone for any 'I'm a bit busy saving the city/world/people' messages. Somewhat surprisingly, he had none. So, he resumed knocking on the door. Only, he was knocking a bit louder now.

Almost a full 5 minutes after Sam Wilson first arrived and started knocking on his friend's door, said door finally swung inwards. Sam realised he had been right in a good many of the things he had thought since arriving here today. For one, today was definitely not going to be just another normal Sunday. He was also about to encounter a completely unexpected risk to his life and finally, his ideas about defining normal were in definite need of revision if this experience was anything to go by.

* * *

It would be wrong to say Sam's early morning knocking was a rude awakening to the occupants of the apartment. In fact, one occupant barely even stirred. For the other, it was more the case of slowly returning consciousness where the sound slowly invaded her dreams until she realised she was awake and it was still present. She waited a moment longer in that half-sleep state between resting and wakefulness until it became obvious that her bedfellow was, unusually, not getting up to deal with it.

With a sigh, she rolled over, took one look at his undisturbed, sleeping face and sighed to herself. It was obviously her turn today. With a slight groan she slid from the bed, careful not to wake him. She needn't have bothered, it seemed nothing short of a bomb in the living room was likely to disturb him.

The knocking, which seemed to be the root of her problems, appeared to have stopped. That was all she needed. They couldn't have given up before she'd extracted herself from sleep and a very comfortable bed? Then, just as she was about to head to the bathroom in a huff, it started back up again, only louder. She wasn't sure if that made her pleased or more annoyed.

Regardless, she grabbed the nearest semi-respectable item of clothing, threw it on, picked up a pistol and made her way silently to the door. You couldn't be too careful in their line of work, especially these days. Looking through the peephole, she recognised the familiar face of Sam Wilson. She should have known. Shaking her head, she made short work of the locks and drew the door open towards her.

The look on his face, hand raised to knock again, when he saw her was priceless. It almost made having to get up to answer the door worth it. Almost.

* * *

Sam prided himself on his ability to deal with surprises. When Captain America and the Black Widow had shown up one morning and told him that everyone they knew was trying to kill them, he took it, did what needed to be done, no questions asked. Cool, calm, and collected.

Natasha–because she was very much Natasha in that moment, not any kind of super spy, assassin, whatever–opening the door comfortable as you please and looking to all intents and purposes like she had just gotten out of bed, wearing his friend's shirt and not a lot else was almost enough to floor him. Almost. He recovered quickly though, as she stepped back to let him in and paused in the hall, waiting for him to properly shut the door.

"Good morning…" he started. When instead what he really wanted to say was: 'Took you long enough to open the door! Where's Steve? Did you sleep here? What the hell is going on?' but he was mindful of his need to maintain the illusion that he was totally cool with all things strange. Not to mention, the fact that she could probably kill him with at least four things in the hallway alone if he so much as insulted her, even a little bit.

She seemed to catch his feeling though as she led the way down the hall and into the kitchen since she replied to at least one of his unasked questions.

"He's dead to the world," She told him, nodding her head in the direction of the master bedroom. "Got in late last night. Had a difficult 48 hours. Coffee?" She started the percolator. "I don't think you'll be running any time this morning." She gestured to a seat at the counter-top, on the living room side.

He took it, dropping his gym bag beside the chair as he did. From there, he watched her move around the kitchen with perfect familiarity, she looked tired too, almost like she was operating on automatic pilot.

He figured it'd be safest not to open his mouth at all, unless he had to, and just let the whole situation pan out. It was certainly preferable to crying out 'How long has this been going on?' as he had the increasing urge to do the more he watched her.

She seemed to take his sitting as confirmation on the coffee as she took out two cups, offering one to him once they were filled. He took as sip. "I guess that answers my milk or sugar question," she offered, joining him at the bench for a moment and sipping her own coffee.

He suddenly realised his brilliant plan of not opening his mouth had a significant flaw in it. If she was going to wait here and keep him company, some conversation would be required, and conversation usually requires the vocal participance of both parties. Damn.

"You said he had a difficult 48 hours," he too tipped his head in the direction of the bedroom.

She nodded.

"I thought he was in New York with Tony. Did something happen?"

Work. Work was always safe topic. Especially with Natasha.

She got this little half smile on her face. If he didn't know better, he'd think she knew exactly what he was doing.

"He was. That's the thing with Stark. It's like lucky dip. You never quite know what you're going to get." She seemed to think on that for a bit, Sam found himself incapable of doing anything but trying valiantly not to gape at her.

"Toast?"

Sam felt his eyes widen despite his best efforts. Tony's not the only one, he thought to himself, as he shook his head, no. "Already had breakfast,"

She got up to make herself some anyway. "Hmn, you may want to re-think that. It's Sunday. When he gets up he'll make eggs."

He couldn't help it, that deserved a reaction. He raised an eyebrow in judgement. Keeping it cool. It didn't seem to bother her. She just shrugged, grabbing a plate for her toast. "He makes really good eggs."

"I know." He replied. What he really wanted to add was 'I spent a month living and traveling with the guy, what's your excuse?' Then he realised that they'd worked together as partners for SHIELD for over two years and who knew what before that. She had just as reasonable an excuse for knowing how good his cooking was.

What that didn't explain though was how comfortable she was in his kitchen, in his home, and why she knew that he was going to be making eggs today in particular.

This paradigm shift was starting to do his head in and it was only going to get worse. She sat down at the bench with him again, toast done and on her plate and proceeded to eat it with jam. He'd never pegged her for a jam person. Apparently, it took all sorts.

"So, did your mum have a good birthday on Friday?" She asked, picking up the conversation again. That at least was expected. He'd barely mentioned that he would have to go to his mother's birthday dinner in passing perhaps a month ago. True to form she would remember the information to use it later. It was strangely comforting in this absolutely surreal Sunday morning breakfast he was apparently having.

"Um, yeah. It was good. Garden party you know..."

She made a gesture for him to continue. Turns out his mother's birthday party was also a safe conversation topic.

They discussed her presents, the spread, the guests, Sam's terrible relations and his mother's friends for nearly the next 40 minutes. He was starting to think that the worst was over for this morning. That, actually, he was okay with all the events that had transpired and that there was a perfectly justifiable reason for Natasha being so comfortable in Steve's apartment on a Sunday morning that didn't involve turning his perceptions of the world upside-down. He should have known better.

He was halfway through describing the incident where one of his mother's friends had dropped half a bowl of trifle all over the cat when it all went to hell in a hand-basket. Again.

It was all Steve's fault really. Having woken at approximately the same time as the trifle story was began he'd registered three things in quick succession. One: he'd slept very late for him. Two: Nat was no longer in the bed and hadn't been for a while. Three: Sam was in the kitchen saying something about a cat, presumably to Nat. He'd simply rolled out of bed and walked out to join them.

* * *

Sam, caught up in joyful reminiscing, hadn't noticed at first. It was not until Steve crossed into his line of sight, hair ruffled, eyes still a little heavy with sleep, and only wearing pyjama pants. That in itself wasn't too bad or unusual.

He nodded 'hey' to which Steve responded with a brief, "Mornin' Sam," and continued his story. Steve, in response, sat down opposite Natasha to listen. She acknowledged him with a smile and returned her attention to Sam's resumed anecdote.

Aside from their mutual states of mild undress all was well in Sam's world, but he was not two words into a brief recap of the first part of the cat vs. trifle story when Steve reached out, picked up Natasha's half full coffee cup, took a few sips and set it down again between them. Sam felt his eyes widen in surprise but was pleased to note his voice didn't falter.

It was a much closer call when approximately 15 seconds later, she picked up the cup to drink. This was ridiculous. Mid-story or not he just had to say something. 'Who were they and what had they done with his friends?' Or more likely 'What in the hell is going on between you two and why the hell haven't I noticed because this is obviously not a new thing!'

His self-control was obviously better than he thought it was. He managed to get through the rest of his story uneventfully while they listened with rapt attention and shared the remains of Natasha's coffee between them.

When he'd finished and they'd all stopped laughing, because really who could not laugh when imagining the reaction of a sleeping cat when half a bowl of trifle is tipped over it, Steve, looking much more awake–from the coffee as much as the laughter, Sam expected–rose and offered them all some eggs as predicted.

After all the conversation about food, Sam did find that he was rather unexpectedly hungry, breakfast or no. He also figured he probably deserved something to make this whole experience worth it in some way. He accepted, despite the ominous feeling that this morning wasn't done with him yet and he should get out while he still could.

True to form, it did not disappoint nor did it keep him waiting long. A measly 30 seconds, in fact. After he had accepted the offer of eggs and Natasha had nodded her acceptance as well, which Sam couldn't help but feel was very much just for his benefit, she stood, taking the empty dishes to the sink.

"Well, now that you're up, I'd better go and put on some pants." She gave Steve a friendly pat on the arm in farewell and flashed Sam a smile on her way out. He was beginning to think he really ought to start taking his own advice. It would be a lot safer.

Once she was gone Steve looked sheepishly over at him. He was still busily trying not to look completely out of his depth.

"Look, could you maybe not mention this to anyone else?"

He almost gave up and let his jaw drop right then reputation be damned.

"It's just I don't think she'd like it very much, I'm amazed she let you in actually..."

He knew he should have left before the eggs. Who was he kidding? He should have gone home the moment he realised that today was not going to be a normal Sunday. No, he should have just let them get shot by Hydra when he had the chance. Life would have been that much more simple and easy to process. Then again, where would be the fun in that. He sighed.

"Sure thing man. Mention what?" He answered appropriately. The smile Steve shot him in response really was worth it. When Captain America looks at you like you've just done him the most selfless, biggest favour apparently you can't help but feel good about yourself. To be fair, it was how he'd got into this mess in the first place...

They spent the rest of the time while Natasha was out of the room in companionable silence, for which he would be eternally grateful. Then, even when she returned fully showered and dressed–he couldn't help but wonder whether those were the clothes she'd come in yesterday or if they lived here–they continued in silence.

Over breakfast, talk turned to the other Avengers and what Tony had been up to in New York. Sam was pleased to notice it was getting on towards 11am, time for him to be getting on, and they had managed to remain in safe, normal waters for nearly 2 hours.

As he made his excuses, collected his gym bag and headed to the door, he realised that this morning, while different to what he had expected, hadn't been all that out of the ordinary at all. This thing, whatever it was, had definitely been there for a while, he just hadn't seen it explicitly.

Now, finally over the shock, he could look forward to other 'unusual' times like this and set his mind to keep his friends' secret.

* * *

Once he had seen Sam out of the front door, Steve returned to the kitchen where Natasha had started washing the dishes. Picking up a dishtowel from the front of the oven he moved to join her.

"So that was fun." She handed him a plate to dry.

"You didn't have to tease him so, Nat."

"Oh come on Rogers, where's your sense of adventure?" She laughed, flicking him with some bubbles.

"I must have left it in my other pants." He deadpanned in return.

She gave him a small huff in response plus another plate.

"But did you see his face when you took your coffee back?"

She raised an eyebrow.

He shrugged. "Just because it was wrong of you, doesn't mean it wasn't a good laugh."

She shook her head and rolled her eyes at him.

"He tried so hard to keep a straight face all morning, I kind of admire his efforts."

"That'll probably hurt tomorrow."

"Besides, that was only after you finally dragged yourself out of bed. You should have seen it when I opened the door."

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 **Just a note for my British friends/readers: When I wrote this Nat meant she was going to put on some _trousers_ but in hindsight pants works just as well, if not better, for Sam's embarrassment :p**

 **Thanks again for coming people. Yup, you guessed it...**

 **reviews=love**

 **Libby :)**


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